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Fariman Clan History
The Fariman Clan Recites the Tale of Hayard Fariman The Fariman Clan had been moving east for the past few months, heading toward the Themes for the annual summer solstice celebration. As was tradition, each night in Spring was the patriarchs for guiding the young ones into the clan’s ways and the retelling of history. Fearghas Fariman had been the elder and historian for 3 centuries, repeating the tales told to him as a child word for word, never corrupting the oral history. This particular night was special, as the campsite was placed at a rock of particular importance to Farimans. The massive, moss covered rock, almost perfectly round save for a large split across the top, towered over everything else in the area with the exception of the sequoias that created the canopy of this particular segment of the Stolle Forest. The children gathered around the fire at the base of the rock, still cheerful from the day’s travel and play. Fearghas stood over the fire with a demeanor that could best be described as patient and benevolent. He waited for the children to settle as the nudged and scooted their way toward the story teller, only making a small effort to hide their jockeying for positions closer to the fire. One larger boy sat quietly behind the others, wearing robes that obscured many of his features. He remained perfectly still, eager for the night’s tale. Once the children had stop squirming about, Fearghas began took a slow step forward and began the oration as he always had. “Many of you may remember the tales we have been telling each night. This is good. These tales are us. We live through our legends as they live through us. We or forever tied to our fathers and their fathers before them, as they and their actions define who we are. We must always remember the exploits of the great Farimans, as any one of you may become one of them. If you were ever to accomplish such heroic tasks, would you yourself not want to be remembered by those who came after you?” Many of the children responded with affirmatives. “Yeah, I want people to tell stories about me!” “I’m gunna be a hero!” “Me too!” Fearghas smiled softly and continued. “Of that we have no doubt, as all Farimans have the potential for greatness. It is well known, in fact, that we are the strongest and bravest of all the clans of the forest. But tonight, we tell not just any tale, but the earliest one in our history. This is the most important tale of the Fariman clan, so, therefore, it is the most important of any tale of all the clans of the forest.” The children grew solemnly silent. “Tonight we tell the tale of Hayard Fariman, the very first Fariman. It begins many thousands of years ago, when the forest covered all of the oldand and the elves were much fewer in number than today. Hayard was at the time a young boy like many of you, not a day older than fifty. He was a strong and brave hunter, carrying with him only the clothes he wore and his trusty sword, which he used to fend off attackers and hunt for his meals. Along his travels, he met a small family that shared a large part of his path through the forest. A path, mind you, that we still wisely follow today, blessed with plenty and beauty. The family was a father to lead and a mother to care, as it should be, with nine children; six beautiful women and three strong men. Though, of course, the strength of these three combined still could not rival Hayard’s.” “Now, seeing Hayard’s skill in the hunt, the family decided to travel along with him and share a camp until their paths diverged. Some days after they first shared a camp, the youngest daughter, foolish and headstrong, decided to head out into the forest away from their path in order to prove herself a hunter like her brothers. When it was discovered that she left, her brothers went to track her, with Hayard followed at the request of the father. When they finally discovered her, but…” Fearghas paused for dramatic effect, soaking in the wide-eyed stares from the crowd of anticipating children. “…she was dead.” A few gasps escaped the crowd. “The strangest part, however, was the discovery of the eldest brother. It had appeared she was killed by falling rock. This could not be, as the forest was flat in this area and no rocks could be found. The middle brother pondered this and proposed that she had been crushed by a large creature who had since moved on. The youngest brother, ever insightful, looked around the area and found large, bowl shaped tracks in the ground, he followed them deeper into the woods, only just catching Hayard’s eye as he disappeared from sight. Alerting the brothers, he followed after. The three caught up to the youngest just as they heard a crack, a scream, and then…silence.” The crowd had grown increasingly tense. Having very vivid imaginations, many of the children began to cover their eyes or ears in fear, adding in any number of gruesome details on their own for every word Fearghas said. The boy in the back continued to gaze directly at the patriarch, seemingly enthralled by the tale. “Hayard and the brothers found the youngest, impaled at the bottom of what could only be a trap, but this was not the worst discovery they made. In front of them lay an abomination to the forest itself; a wizard’s tower!” More gasps. The entire crowd of children had looks of terror upon their faces, save for the boy in the back. “From the doorway into the tower came two beings of rock, twice as tall as any man, and granted their evil lives through the power of the arcane. The rock creatures charged at the two brothers, standing in front of Hayard in their anticipation for battle. They were crushed instantly by the towering beings. Hayard, in his outrage at the loss of these three respectable hunters, slew both creatures with one swing of his sword, cleaving them in twain.” The children became rowdy with excitement. The boy in the back mimed Hayard’s actions in the tale, slicing an invisible blade through the air. “He was determined to find the cause of these deaths, so he entered the tower. Braving the many obstacles and horrors of the tower, he came to the top, where the wizard was finishing an incantation of arcane evil. The wizard, a non-elf much smaller and weaker than Hayard, had his hands and eyes raised to the sky, clearly awaiting the results of his magic. Wasting no time, Hayard drove his blade into the wizard, killing him instantly, but too late nonetheless. Lightning struck the tower and it began to shake. Hayard, unmoved by the rumbling of the tower, witnessed the stones that made up the tower beginning to shift. The tower was coming to life!” Fearghas began to stomp around the children and mimic a giant creature. “With one last act, the wizard created another rock beast, but this one was many times the size of the others. Hayard began to swing away at the creature from atop its head. Drawing its attention, he was grabbed in its just formed arm and carried high over the ground. High above the canopy he could see the forest for many miles. The beauty of the forest bolstered his strength. He broke free of the creature’s grip and ran up its arm. With all his strength, Hayard swung at the creature’s massive body. The sword struck with such great force that it split the boulder making up it’s heart down the middle. The very same boulder you use before you!” Fearghas stepped aside and gestured at the massive rock they had camped in front of. Many ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ah’s’ followed. “Returning to the family, Hayard delivered the sad news of their sons’ deaths. With grief in his heart, but gratitude for avenging his sons, the father gave Hayard his five daughters to be his wives. And that, my children, is how our great clan was started. Now, it is late, and we have all had our fun today, return to your mothers and fathers and prepare for bed. Tomorrow we leave bright and early to leave for the sacred stream of Gantros the Wild, and where he and Harold Fariman created the very first bow.” The children scattered, many shoving the boy in the back out of the way as he continued to sit, reflecting on the story. Once the majority of the children had left, he returned to his mother and father to tell of his day. That night the boy dreamed of himself conquering the towering creature. … The following day brought new insights to the boy. He walked with his father, who was helping some of the other men take up the rear of the clan’s migration. “Father?” The elf let out a long sigh. “Yes, Sam?” “How is it that a single sword can crack a rock so big?” “What are you getting at boy?” “Well, it’s just that I’ve never seem many of the things that Elder Fearghas talks about. His stories are about really strong and brave elves, but can anyone really do those things?” “That’s what the story said, didn’t it?” “Well..yeah…but are the stories completely true?” Samuel was caught off guard by a hard slap across the face. “Why do you think the Elder tells those stories? They’re history! Do you think you’re smarter than him, boy? What could a thirty year old know about what is or isn’t possible compared to an elf of his age?” “I’m…I didn’t mean it…” Samuel did his best to hold back tears, though his voice was already trembling. His father gave him a swift kick knocking him to the ground. “Get going, I don’t want to see your dirty face right now. Go bother your mother with your idiocy.” Samuel sat as the group continued forward, not a single one looking back to see if he had gotten up. He lay on the ground and waited for his tears to dry. Doing his best to put what had happened out of his mind. Returning to his previous questions, he decided to head backward. Managing to reach the large rock during daylight, he began to scale it. The rock was slippery with moss, and Sam got more than a fair share of scrapes and cuts, but his curiosity was not to be subdued. Eventually reaching the top, he surveyed the split in the rock. According to Fearghas, this rock was part of Hayard’s legacy. Samuel walked along the crack, making an effort not to slip. He discovered the crack zigzagged over the top of the rock, deeper in some places than others. “But…a sword cuts straight. It shouldn’t look like this…” He ran his hand along the inside of the crack, discovering a jagged surface. He pricked his thumb on a sharp point. “Ow…” Young Sam sat down and instinctively sucked on his thumb to staunch the bleeding. He saw the sun setting and knew that he had to be quick to catch up to the rest of the clan. On his way back, he pondered aloud. “Well, it definitely doesn’t look like a sword did that. Maybe one of the Elders heard it wrong when they passed it down. I should tell Fearghas about this, maybe then they’ll thank me for pointing it out and fixing history!” Sam began to pick up the pace, bolstered by his optimism. “…maybe then they’ll like me.”